


Like Real People Do

by puptart



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: (kinda??? kinda), Amnesia, F/M, Retcon Timeline, Season 3 Spoilers, Season 4 Spoilers, Season 5 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21928441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puptart/pseuds/puptart
Summary: What if when he fell, he rose again and shed his old identity so that not a scrap remained?
Relationships: Janine De Luca/Simon Lauchlan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Like Real People Do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crownleys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crownleys/gifts).



> MAJOR Season 3 spoilers ahead!!!
> 
> Written for my partner in crime, Emma. Check her out at crownleys.tumblr.com!
> 
> For background, in a little AU of our own devising (with a friend, Kane. Hi Kane!), we've tossed all our Fives in together and split the plot up between them. Her Runner Five, Ren Swift, is called Runner Twelve in that AU.

The snow crunches under Janine’s boots, her breath frosting the air as she storms away from Abel Township. 

Nothing has happened. Nothing is wrong. Nothing needs her immediate attention.

It puts her ill at ease. 

Janine has always been the sort to need something to do, a way to keep busy, a problem to solve. Abel has a million problems, certainly, but she’s managed to delegate far too well in the months after Moonchild’s defeat on the Ice Cream Cone Towers. Everything is being handled. 

She has had time on her hands to do with as she pleases outside of her usual daily duties. The circuit boards she has been working on for the past month held no appeal to her though, nor had any of the other small jobs she fills her infrequent freetime with. No, instead she felt like she was going to begin crawling out of her skin as soon as she picked up her tools. 

It took two hours of forcing herself to do it before Janine finally lost her temper and punched her desk; a childish display she had regretted immediately, all the more when she’d heard a gentle gasp from Dr. Lobatse, who had been at the doorway to ask her a question. Being escorted to the hospital tent to have her hand wrapped had been humiliating, though she did her best to not show it. Nothing is broken, just bruised, but in her shame she’d been easily convinced to go take a walk. 

At first she had no aim, which was nearly as infuriating as trying to work on circuitry when her thoughts are tangled and spinning the way they are. 

The smell of salty sea air catches her nose though, and she realizes what she wants to do now, and begins heading towards the ocean. 

She walks down a familiar path, through the Forest of Fallen Runners. Only twice has she run this path. It’s an honor typically reserved for runners, and Mr. Yao. Janine has no desire to encroach on the tradition, having only done it for Sara’s funeral and… after Simon. No one had accompanied her on or even known about the second trip. 

After the Ice Cream Cone Towers, she doubts many would begrudge her mourning him, though she doesn’t want to invite commentary from either side. 

Footsteps approach rapidly from behind him. The snow and leaves muffle sound so well that she hadn’t noticed earlier, and now they’re practically on top of her. 

Janine whirls around, drawing her firearm in a smooth motion, feet braced. 

Runner Twelve blinks at her, hands going up and palm out, a placid expression on their face. 

With a sigh, Janine reholsters her weapon.

“What are you doing here, Runner Twelve?” Janine asks, trying not to snarl the words. Even the sight of the runner manages to get under her skin at times, them sneaking up on her when she’s lost in her thoughts certainly doesn’t endear her to them in the least. 

They put their hands down. “Visiting Sara.”

Janine’s heart sinks. Her expression must as well, considering the way Runner Twelve looks at her. She turns on her heel quickly, avoiding their eye. Snow crunches softly as they jog to match pace with her, falling into place at her side. Resentfully, she wishes they would just trip on their shoe laces.

“Are you going there too?” they ask politely. 

“No,” Janine says. It isn’t a lie. She isn’t going to go anymore, not if Runner Twelve is going as well. 

They may have proven their loyalty to Abel, but Janine can’t ignore the sting of betrayal they brought with their presence in Sara’s life. She remembers when _she_ fit into place at Sara’s right. She remembers being the one to know her secrets.

So she thought, anyways. It turns out Sara had barely indulged a thing to Janine, at least when compared to what Runner Twelve has become privy to. A sour taste fills her mouth, knowing that despite all their time together, Runner Twelve is the one Sara held in such high regard. Janine doubts Sara’s _husband_ knew as much as Runner Twelve does now. 

It all reminds her of how little she actually knew Sara as a person, and how little yet she still knows about Runner Twelve.

“Oh,” Runner Twelve says, incredulous. “Well if you were, I won’t be long.”

“I wasn’t,” Janine say. 

Their footsteps fall out of sync, a cacophony that grates on Janine’s nerves more with every step. The worst of it is, she can’t deny they have more right to visit Sara’s resting place than she does. Feelings aside… she won’t begrudge them wanting to mourn her. Runner Twelve has been just as busy and just as worn by life since the zombie apocalypse as Janine has. Perhaps more. 

“Be safe, Mx. Swift,” Janine says, surprising herself with how genuine her tone comes out. It surprises Runner Twelve as well, who stares for a moment before nodding.

“You too. See you,” they say, then immediately sprint away with unnerving speed. 

Janine takes a swift exit from the path, heading west; she recognizes this part of the forest. She’d been here with Runner Five before, taking a census. What a failure _that_ had been. It is also where the old tequila distillery was found. Moonchild’s formula is no longer being brewed there, and none of the old inhabitants remain. For quite some months Janine has been thinking about reclaiming the equipment to be used at Abel for fuel.

And perhaps _some_ alcoholic use. 

No one wants to touch the places Moonchild has tainted, like they’re afraid she lingers in the dark corners. Janine finds the fear silly, but she cannot say so. The fear Moonchild instilled in so many people is quite real. As someone unaffected, however, she is free to salvage what she can without consequence. 

She hopes so, at least. 

The distillery isn’t in as much disrepair as she’d expected. Not from the outside at least. The chainlink fence all around it still stands, though Janine easily spots the hole cut out by Runner Twelve, and slips through. Oddly, the side door is wide open. It’s been over a year since Janine has visited this place in person though, so perhaps it’s been that way.

Even so, she draws her pistol, just to be cautious. It wouldn’t be outrageous to believe a zombie has gotten in, or someone else looking to bunker down in the building. With winter oncoming, fewer people are migrating, and more are settling down to wait for the spring thaw. These travelers tend to react one of two ways to intruders; run away to avoid trouble, or meet all threats with deadly force.

There’s no scent of smoke, and Janine doesn’t spy any other footprints aside from her own as she heads for the open door. That doesn’t mean much though, not with the snowfall they had last night. Janine casts her gaze around once more, then quietly steps forward. The crunch of her boots through the snow is quiet, but it echoes off pristine snow drifts and a wall of frosted tree branches. Her heart hammers, aware that she is at a total disadvantage should this come to an altercation. She suddenly wishes she had taken a headset before leaving, but she’d been too childishly absorbed in her emotions to think to do so. 

The walk across the clearing goes without issue, and she slips inside the distillery without needing to touch the door. It’s just as cold inside as out, which makes her think it less likely someone is within. Someone looking to bunker down for the winter would at least take steps to secure the building, and make it more habitable. A zombie, however, would not care.

Janine holsters her pistol for the time being. She hears no groaning, smells no decay; there may yet be something here, but she cannot sense it. Not beyond the hairs on the back of her neck prickling, at least. 

The main room of the factory is practically empty. Quite a lot has been scavenged already, save a few workbenches, two stools, and some scattered papers. Janine crouches to inspect them, but they are too damp and wrinkled to make out. The stairs leading to the second floor are rusting, but seem to be in good enough shape to use still. The assembly lines have belts that are practically brand new and gleaming metal gears; no doubt refreshed by Moonchild some months ago.

There’s a trail of blood spatter on the far wall, reaching high enough to speckle the windows that are set into the walls roughly seven feet up. It’s browned. Janine wonders if it’s a zombie’s blood, or if it’s from when Moonchild had her New Canton forces clear out the old inhabitants of Pepe’s. 

It doesn’t matter either way. She turns away and heads back to the room holding the tanks that once brewed tequila, then Moonchild’s serum, and now nothing at all. The door squeals on it’s hinges as she pulls it open. Heart hammering, Janine draws her gun again, and casts her gaze around the darkened factory. 

Nothing. 

She puts the gun away and waits a moment more.

Nothing.

There’s a feeling like fingers running up her back, and she shivers, tugging her coat more tightly around herself. Janine gives herself a firm shake, then turns and goes into the distilling chambers. 

The tanks all loom above her. There are only two narrow windows in here, which allows just enough light to create deep shadows around each of the tanks. Janine stands right in the middle of the room, in the most concentrated area of light, and gives a cursory inspection of the outsides of the tanks from there. Very little rusting, _some_ dents from a scuffle, but overall, the tanks are certainly in good enough shape to be taken. She just needs to see if the contents of Moonchild’s serum is truly gone. 

A few of the step ladders have been taken from the room, but one remains. It looks dodgy, the legs are slightly uneven, and clearly there’s a reason this one wasn’t worth the weight of carrying out. 

With no other choice, Janine takes it in hand, and sets it up beside the first tank. She grips the sides and puts one foot on the lowest rung, settling her weight on it. The whole ladder shifts sharply, but she shifts her weight with a grunt and manages to keep her footing. It settles with a slight wobble.

Still good enough. Janine lifts her second foot off the ground. The ladder holds. She places it on the second rung. The ladder holds. She pushes herself upward. The ladder holds. 

Janine climbs up just high enough to reach for the top and throw it open. She takes out a pen light, and shines it into the tank, stretching so she can peer down into it.

There’s some moisture inside, but again, minimal rusting. No floral scent. The liquid collected at the bottom of the tank is likely just water, perhaps ice now. It is difficult to tell from this height. 

Casting the light along the sides, to check for flaws in the metal, Janine begins to think about the best method of utilizing the equipment. Regardless of what they use these tanks for, they have to be in a position to make use of them efficiently. The distillery is a long distance from Abel’s main gates, but it lies just outside of the current territorial reach of the township. She could attempt to simply expand and claim it for Abel, then station security. With the influx of population, she should have the people to do it. It would be more secure within the main walls, however. It would just be more difficult to move the-

The door squeals slightly, a voice quietly swearing just outside the room. Light flares in her eyes as she drops the penlight and it spins downward. She turns on the ladder, drawing her weapon just as the light clangs against the bottom of the metal tank. Spots dance in her eyes, but she can just make out a figure outside the door.

“Who’s th-” Janine starts to demand, but the ladder groans… and then it slips. A gasp leaves her reflexively, and her finger slips on the trigger. It goes off with a _BANG_ , just as she begins to fall backwards. Even falling though, she does not release her pistol. Her free hand scrabbles for purchase uselessly, and at the last moment she braces for impact. 

Impact is not as painful as she had expected. It only takes her a moment to realize she’s been _caught_.

“Let me go!” she yells, and bashes the figure across the temples with her fist. They yelp, and drop her.

 _That_ is painful. Janine scrambles to her feet and puts distance between them, pistol up. 

“You’re welcome,” the figure says sulkily, rubbing at their head. They’re obscured by shadow, but Janine can see they’re easily a foot taller than her, and possibly that much broader as well. 

“I am Colonel Janine de Luca of Abel Township. State your name and your purpose, and come out with your hands raised,” Janine growls. The figure laughs, and the sound of it haunts her. She nearly loses her grip again. 

“You wouldn’t believe me,” the figure says. Janine wets her lips. 

“Try me.”

A dry huff follows, then they step out of the room and into the light with hands raised. 

Blue eyes, so familiar that it steals Janine’s breath, meet hers. The rest of him is too different; dark hair, wider jaw, less severe looking overall, but the eyes…

“I don’t bloody well know,” he says with a shrug. His voice is wrong, too different, but the _way_ he says it. 

Janine cannot form a single word. Not a one. He shakes his head at her. 

“See? You don’t believe me.” He drops his hands, and doesn’t flinch at all when Janine snaps her aim to his head. It’s then that she notices the dark red stain on his torso, growing around the hole in his tee-shirt. Where is his coat? 

Janine’s lack of response doesn’t deter him in the least. He just sighs and says, “Look, I woke up mid-step, half burned to death, and I don’t remember how I got there. I was heading somewhere though, so I just kept going in that direction until I got here. I dunno who I am or where I come from.”

“Where?” Janine asks hoarsely. “Where did you- Where did you ‘wake up’?”

“London,” he says simply.

Her knees give out completely. She falls, only just catching herself with her free hand. The pistol slips from her grip so she can brace herself. The filthy trainers he wears come into view, and he reaches for her.

“Don’t touch me!” she snarls, and they pause mid-air. He freezes in place, then steps back and squats on his haunches. He leans forward to peer at her. 

“Are you alright?” he asks. 

“Yes.”

She is not. 

Her eyes fall shut and she forces herself to breathe easy. To get herself under control. 

When she opens them again, it's to those same baby blue eyes gazing at her steadily.

“What are you looking at?” she snaps venomously. He grins, and despite the face being wrong, everything else about it strikes her through the heart. 

“You’re gorgeous,” he says. Janine frowns. “I mean that, you’re easily the most gorgeous woman-- hell, most gorgeous _person_ I’ve even seen.”

Janine lets out a dry laugh. “I’m afraid that doesn’t mean much, coming from a man who only has five months of memories.”

He laughs that same laugh, light and airy and so very much the man she once loved. Then he stops suddenly and his gaze is piercing. 

“How did you know that’s how long I’ve been awake?”

“A good guess,” she says, then pushes herself up to her feet, grabbing her pistol as she goes, and holstering it. 

The look he gives her is sharp, clever than he ever liked anyone to know he really is; Janine doesn’t bother trying to convince him to believe her though. It would be pointless. As pointless as him trying to get to her admit she’s lying. She looks to the door.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“Home, now that I know this place is… occupied,” Janine says. Also so she can down a finger of whiskey and ask herself if this is really happening. Perhaps she’s finally had another mental break. 

“Where’s that?” He steps closer, more into her line of sight. Not to be ignored, clearly. 

“Abel Township.” Janine watches his face, but no flicker of recognition crosses his expression. She could’ve made up a name, for all it would matter to him. 

He rubs his arms, though the cold hasn’t seemed to bother him up to this point. His eyes widen, and it seems he hasn’t forgotten how to do _that_ face, the one Sam calls his ‘sad puppy eyes’. 

“I don’t actually live here, you know,” he says, looking wretchedly pitiful. “I don’t live anywhere, at the moment. I don’t suppose your township has a little extra room, does it?”

“That would not be prudent, I’m afraid,” Janine says, pursing her lips. 

Bad idea or not, she can’t very well leave him here. No one is meant to be a fortress against the world, regardless of how unkillable they seem to be. And it _is_ cold. There are other settlements, ones that owe her favors, but does she trust them to care for him? Does she trust them to know how to handle him, should he remember?

“Do people know me there or something?” he asks with a laugh. “I thought you gave me a weird look earlier.”

“Now why would you assume that people knowing you means they wouldn’t want you?” Janine asks, knowing full well the answer. Something simmers painfully behind his eyes. 

“I don’t know much about myself, but I know _enough_ ,” he says balefully. Janine frowns.

It’s him, there’s no denying it. She knows. Others could figure it out as well, but… Rubbing her face, Janine tries again to think of what options she has. She could try hiding him somewhere close, sneaking him rations and company and whatever else he needs, but would that be any better than confirming to him what he thinks of himself?

For better or worse, Janine has forgiven him for everything. She forgave him far sooner than she probably should have. Her heart has ached to have him back since she first lost him though. There’s no denying that he’s earned his forgiveness at this point as well. He died for people he has never met, never knew, because it was the right thing. He did it so no one else would have to make that sacrifice. 

Blinking rapidly, Janine says, “You’ll need a name.”

Hope sparks up around him, and he gives her a smile. “I have had one in mind, actually. Just haven’t had the opportunity to use it much.”

“What is it then?” she asks. He puffs his chest out proudly.

“Peter.”

A saints name. A _martyrs_ name. She can’t help but laugh. His face scrunches.

“What?” he asks indignantly.

“Simon Peter,” she says. He blinks.

“Who?”

“Nevermind. I take it you’re not religious?”

“I don’t think so,” he says, scratching his stubble. She wonders when he’s found the time to shave in the past five months. “Why, is your Abel place a religious thing?”

“No, despite the name,” Janine says. With a sigh that clouds the air, she gestures for him to follow her out the door. 

It’s a long enough walk back to Abel that she comes up with a cover story for him to use, and coaches him on details.

“You don’t need to go in depth on your background. In fact, the less said the better,” she tells him. 

“You know, for a short girl you’re quick,” he says, jogging to catch up as she marches down the path. She scowls.

“I’m not a _girl_.”

“Woman?”

“That will suffice.” She runs a hand over her hair, tightening her ponytail. “Now, as I was saying. You can be as dodgy as you want about your life before the apocalypse, we’ll come up with something you can say later on. No one presses for those details. They’ll want to know what you’ve been up to thus far though.”

“Mostly roaming the roads and mooching off whatever villages I come across,” he tells her. She nods.

“That will work.” She shuts her mouth when she hears another set of footsteps, faster than normal, and she knows who’s just caught up to them. With an inward groan, she turns to him and says, “One of the runners is approaching. Follow my lead, and say as little as you possibly can.”

“Roger that,” he says with a salute. 

Within moments, Runner Twelve is upon them both. They call out a short greeting, though they eye him suspiciously as they fall into place at his side. 

“Who’s this?” they ask. Their gaze finds the bloodstain on his shirt. “Woah, what happened?”

“I nicked this off a zombie,” he says.

“Did you now?” Runner Twelve asks dryly.

“Runner Twelve,” Janine cuts in. “This is-”

“Peter Simons, pleasure to meet you,” he interrupts, sticking his hand out for a still-running-hand-shake. Janine quietly wonders if simply shooting them both would get rid of the headache she feels forming in her temples. 

Runner Twelve accepts the handshake. “Peter. I’m Runner Twelve, but everyone calls me Ren, except Janine.”

“He’s going to be a new resident, Runner Twelve,” she says icily. 

“So Peter,” Ren pipes in, sounding far too interested. “What brings you to Abel?”

“Oh, business mostly,” he says. “I’ve been between settlements for the most part, and after talking to the _lovely_ Janine here, I thought Abel would be a great place to start up again.”

“What kind of business?”

“We should really focus,” Janine cuts in. She really remembers him being a _much_ better liar than this. Either that, or she was truly too stupid to notice. “None of us have a headset, I notice.”

“I’ve barely come across any zoms,” Runner Twelve assures her, but they go quiet anyways. 

“So you’re a runner then? What’s that like?” he asks. 

_“I said we should focus.”_

They jog on in silence, beyond the sound of their feet hitting the ground, and the occasional whisper of wind through the leaves above. 

The trip goes without another hitch, though she does have to send several glares his way when he opens his mouth to say something else. Honestly, it’s like the man _wants_ to be caught.

Not that he has any clue he’d _be_ caught. This is going to be very complicated. Already she can see Runner Twelve’s cog turning in their mind. She’s going to have to find an overnight mission for them to go on and keep their mind off of him. 

At last, they break past the tree line, and Abel Township lays just ahead. They follow the road pounded flat by countless runners, all the way up to the gates, which open the moment the soldiers on the wall spot her. 

“Welcome back, Janine,” a few of them from the top. Several jeer at Runner Twelve, and they make rude gestures back, laughing as they come in. 

“Popular, aren’t you?” he asks, looking quite amused himself.

“Well Janine definitely is,” Ren says. “She’s in charge of the place, after all.”

“That’s quite enough, Runner Twelve.” 

He looks at her like she’s a gigantic Christmas present with a shiny bow on her head. “You’re the boss?”

“In a word, yes,” Janine admits. The glee shines on his face.

“That’s _hot_.”

“That’s inappropriate.” Janine does _not_ look at Runner Twelve, though they are looking at her quite intensely. “Runner Twelve, go check in with Runner Five. They’ll be moving back in soon, yes?”

Runner Twelve’s expression changes entirely, going soft and concerned, and without another word they rabbit off to the comms shack. Janine feels a fraction of the tension in her back loosen; at least she knows how to keep them occupied while she gets him settled into the populace now. 

“Bye!” he calls after them. They pause to wave, then continue on their way. 

“You, come with me. Now.” 

Janine doesn’t wait to see if he intends to obey, but his delighted noise at her orders tells her he is. It’s a busy day, so not many people try to stop her. As she reaches the door to her house, she realizes she’s been clenching her jaw the whole time, so perhaps they were all simply too intimidated to stop her. 

Good. 

“Come in,” she says, stepping aside to let him in. He steps in, and for the first time, she sees a flicker of _something_ in his eye. It’s gone in a moment though, so she can’t be sure.

“So, now that you have me where you want me…” he waggles his eyebrows at her, and she frowns.

“Now I can try to fix the damage you’ve done by going off the script I told you to follow,” she says heatedly, leading the way to her office. He follows slowly, too preoccupied with looking over every nook and cranny in the house to keep up. 

She goes around her desk to the file cabinet, where she keeps copies of all the new resident forms. Eventually he ambles his way in, still looking around like he’s brand new. Which she supposes he is. 

With a sigh, she settles into her chair and gestures for him to do the same. He does, leaning back comfortably. Her tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth. As different as he looks, she remembers far too many late night conversations here, both of them in these same positions. She remembers… So much. Everything that he can’t.

“Is this like an interview?” he asks. 

“No,” she says. Then she thinks about it. “Actually, I suppose it is. I’ll be interviewing you on who you’d like to be here.”

“So I get to fully invent myself, eh?” He folds his hands behind his head with a grin. “I like the sound of that. Do I get a job?”

“You do.” She eyes him. “What job do you feel capable of?”

He hums and thinks. Eventually his eyes brighten. Even before he speaks, she has a feeling she knows what he’s going to suggest.

“How about a runner?”


End file.
